Icarus
by Nerumi H
Summary: After taking Elsa from her palace, Hans considers the reparation of his losing plan and what's to be done to right it. - /More Hans studies. Hansla undertones.


**.title.:** Icarus

**.summary.:** After taking Elsa from her palace, Hans considers the reparation of his losing plan and what's to be done to right it.

**.characters.:** Hans - Elsa - (Hansla)

**.a/n.:** BREAKING NEWS: All I write is Hans angst.

For my Frozen fics so far, on AO3 and on here, the results have been exactly opposite. Let's see how this one does. This is actually a bit old, but doesn't really matter, because since this, I still haven't figured out what I wanted for Hans beyond his gap-filled canon.

**X **

You can destroy her.

You watch her lifeless body, and that thought bothers you – flicking in the back of your mind like a forgotten candle, sinking into dusted wax. If you only…close your hands on her neck, before she wakes up, you can kill her.

The icy wind violently whips outside even though she's unconscious, sleet and hail beating against the prison window, but you're too captivated by her to wonder about it. The slope of her chin as her head lolls into your shoulder. The tiny wrists, the pallor of fingers that hold all the power of the deepest layer of hell.

And you have her in your arms, helpless.

You haven't yet put her down and it's been a little too long, you realize. She fits nicely in your lap, with a neat sort of limpness that slides her weightlessly against your arms and makes her benign chill whisper under your skin with every time you edge her closer. Her sister…her sister, she does not resemble. Her eyes are too harsh, her jaw taut even in rest. Her freckles flutter across skin so white it seems like it will burn you if you dare touch without your gloves.

Of course, she has a dangerous effect: you're attracted to her.

And she's at your mercy. But perhaps you're so attracted to her that you dare not take advantage.

Beside you is a blanket that you'd ordered be brought in. It's from somewhere in the castle, and abruptly you think you should have specified to bring something from her room. She spent her whole life in there, didn't she? She'll be just as imprisoned here, and if it makes her feel like she's home… She might not cause a problem…

…You aren't sure what you're going to do with her.

You slide her weak wrists into your palm, and glance at the chains buried into the ground of the cell. They look like they could splinter her.

You want to imprison her. Of course you do. You want to choke the magic out of her so the world turns back the way it should – you want to stay here and take it all as yours.

That's all you ever wanted. Didn't you say (didn't you need), if you couldn't make her fall in love with you, you'd kill her? You'd let a queen die in her own halls and how did you think you'd have to do that, just snap your fingers and she'd drop dead?

You'd have to slit her throat and be reunited with the feeling of blood sating your skin.

This – imprisoning her, forgetting her – is so little. This is so little.

Will they let you keep her here?

You feel sharp panic twist in your gut.

Crushing your eyes shut, you try and sort everything out – there's enough to back you up, isn't there? They think she's a monster. You brought her home because you have faith. You have so much strength and so much heart, and you wish the best for Arendelle, and you will believe that a soul is within the cursed queen…until the valiant prince makes the heroic decision and lets her fall…

The king…

She won't stay here forever. She definitely won't, not when she's lying in your lap.

You pull her further up, vaguely rock her, and in your confusion, are clutched with the putrid imagery of winning.

Being king and proud and triumphant and you'll still be alone, Anna dead somewhere out in the wilderness, Elsa a filth in the prisons and a memory in the imprints of your hands, but you'll be happy and this worthless, youngest prince will have won.

You hold her for a moment more. There is value in the way you know that if you let go, she'll be helpless.

You slide her onto the stone bench, delicate with her head, and fold her arms across her stomach. She glows in the darkness like a feeble halfmoon, but the darkness around her eyes makes you nervous – if she opens them, will you notice in time?

It doesn't matter; she wouldn't hurt you. You're doing this for her, the falling queen of Arendelle.

And you're going to make sure she sees you catch her.

You carry over the massive shackles, chains ringing with haunting music, and take the key from your coat. Elsa doesn't stir when you lift her arm, place it best you can within the confines, and crash it closed with a bang like sword against stone. The other arm, too, while you find yourself sitting next to her again.

You push her hair back from her face.

You want to let her rot – you want to make her see you like you know she can, the sisters can, Arendelle is more than home and they can make it everything you ever wanted if everything had just gone like you wanted –

…Only a day ago, you were going to marry her.

Knowing what you'll have to do now, that dark candle is snuffed out into curlicues of smoke.

You remember readying your boat whilst imagining the pride behind coaxing the legendarily elusive Arendelle princess out of her self-confined prison, swooping her into your arms, and making the both of you forget a loneliness you've kept on your own for so long.

What a stupid fairytale.

If only she'd just fallen in love with you.

You shake out the blanket, and drape it across her. You make sure her arms don't fall off the edge of the bench, nor rest their suffocating weight on her delicate body.

If only, you think vaguely in the smoke, true love's kiss meant making people fall in love instead.

You tuck the blanket around her shoulders.

And, strangely, she shivers.


End file.
